


Stories

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Body of Proof
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: becoming friends over a bottle of Moscato</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-season 1

Megan Hunt looked up from her computer and rubbed her hands together, massaging away the numbness that had crept up unexpectedly. It was a sensation she had become accustomed to, though each loss of feeling was a stark reminder of what she had lost. No—what she had gained.

Megan wasn’t exactly an optimist, but she was trying like hell to fake it in the hope that it stuck. Her life wasn’t terrible. Her job was rewarding. Her colleagues were tolerable. Her daughter spared a few words for her every now and then.

It could have been worse. It could always be worse.

She caught a glance at the clock and frowned; it had been two hours since her last break—two hours of overtime that she didn’t need. She decided that a few stiff muscles in her neck were a fair price to pay for the alternative, which was sitting alone in an empty apartment. Those hours were better spent in the office. At home, those hours would bleed slowly from the clock, and she would feel the weight of her—not loneliness—but aloneness.

She preferred the company of the bodies in the morgue rather than being alone with herself. Perhaps it was because those bodies represented stories, lives lived, while her own continued to represent a stagnant tale that had been paused. Megan had the power to allow those lives to have closure, to make sure those stories were told. What would those stories have meant if they’d never been shared?

What did her own story mean? Once upon a time, she had a husband and a daughter and friends and a successful career. She thought she had everything. Megan Hunt, eternal realist, had forgotten how fragile life could be, and she had lost it all—if she ever really had any of it in the first place. None of it truly belonged to her – did anything belong to anyone, or was it merely theirs to borrow?

There were few constants in her life that she could count on: dead bodies, paresthesia, child support payments, and her inability to escape herself.

As Megan flexed her fingers, a movement caught her eye. The ever-so-cool Kate Murphy leant against her doorframe, her eyes alight with azure amusement. Megan was momentarily struck by Kate’s easy confidence and her unintentionally sexy smirk. Megan saw her a dozen times a day, but each time still continued to render her speechless. She found the sensation unsettling, foreign. She wasn’t sure if she liked the way her stomach clenched at the sight of her or the way her own self-assuredness seemed to waver in the other woman’s company.

“Why is it that whenever I look up from what I’m doing, I always find you standing in my doorway?”

Kate smirked, and Megan’s stomach knotted tightly. “You don’t look up as often as you think.”

Megan raised an eyebrow. “Are you keeping an eye on me, Dr. Murphy?”

“You could say that.”

Megan smiled and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “I never would have taken you for a voyeur.”

Kate laughed, her cheeks coloring slightly pink. “You’re incorrigible, Dr. Hunt.”

Megan grinned knowingly. “You have no idea.”

The other woman’s tongue darted out along her lower lip as she tilted her head to the side, a lock of that wavy blonde hair falling across her cheek. If Megan’s fingers weren’t numb, she knew they would have tingled at the thought of brushing that hair behind Kate’s ear. The silence dragged on for several moments and Megan attempted to reign in her discomfort. This was the part that she had become unerringly bad at. Was this flirtation? Teasing? Or something else, something darker?

She nearly laughed at the conspiracy theories running through her mind. Perhaps she was spending a little too much time inventing stories instead of allowing them to be experienced.

“Something tells me you’re not here to talk about my work habits,” Megan ventured. The sensation was beginning to return to her fingers.

“Not exactly.” Kate’s smile was broad and genuine. “After all, I’m still here too.”

“And that would have made you a hypocrite.”

“Which I definitely am not.”

“That’s good. It’s…refreshing.”

Kate quirked an eyebrow. “Did you think I was?”

“No. I’ve just encountered way too many hypocrites to be able to discern who’s genuine and who’s not.”

“Ah, so that’s it.”

“What’s what?”

“Why you are so mistrusting—you lump us all in the ‘hypocrites and liars’ category.”

“Until they prove they don’t belong there.”

“And what about me? Have I proven myself worthy of being considered genuine?”

Megan smiled slowly. “You’re my boss—I have to say ‘yes’.”

“I’m not asking as your boss. I’m asking as a woman.”

Megan’s breath quickened. “I don’t know you well enough as a woman, Dr. Murphy, to make that assessment.”

“Kate.” As she uttered her name, Kate stepped into the office and paused in front of Megan’s desk, resting her arms against the wooden desktop. “Would you like to get to know me?”

“What are you asking exactly?”

“I’m asking if you’d like to come back to my place and have a glass of wine with me. I’d like to get to know you, Megan.” Kate’s blue eyes were piercing. “I’d like to be your friend.”

Megan hesitated. Everything Kate offered was perilously close to everything Megan distinctly avoided. It was safer here, in her dim, quiet office, where she was alone. There was no risk involved in this office, where there was nothing to gain that she would hate to lose.

There was nothing here but an unfinished story.

Jorge Young, Abigail Shaye, and Sid Hanlon would still be dead in the morning. Kate Murphy, on the other hand, was alive and wouldn’t wait forever.

“Red or white?”

Kate’s smile widened. “White. Moscato.”

Megan’s fingers clicked over her keyboard, saving her work before shutting the computer down. “I prefer red.”

“Next time we’ll have red at your place.”

“Next time?”

Kate simply grinned. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”

Megan watched the hypnotic sway of Kate’s hips as she walked away, leaving behind the lingering scent of her perfume. She closed her eyes as her head grew dizzy. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. The lack of control was vaguely exciting. It was new and uncertain and Megan knew it was exactly the next step she needed to take.

She could even learn to like white wine.

\---


End file.
